


Fox On The Run

by Rhadamantelope



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Dogs, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Photojournalist AU, Rating May Change, god that's esoteric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-01 12:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10190033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhadamantelope/pseuds/Rhadamantelope
Summary: A research trip to South America really should be smooth sailing. Unfortunately for National Geographic photojournalist Hal Emmerich, he happens to have no such luck. Tossed off a bus into the middle of the Patagonian Desert, things don't look too bright--that is, until a reclusive desert guide offers him a hand.But even then, nothing's set in stone. Except the desert, I guess.





	1. Faulty Manhunt

**Author's Note:**

> so, two things:  
> one, this was initially a Tracks AU but somehow turned into...this  
> two, I've never played mgs, only watched a couple playthroughs, though I do have some understanding of how the characters interact so uh. here's to hoping I'm not doing too awful at this writing thing

“No AC on this bus, huh?”

“Hmm, nope.” Dr. Hunter drummed her fingers along the back of the bus seat, leaning over it like a grade-schooler eager to talk to a friend. “At least the window’s open. Enjoy that breeze while it lasts, by the way.”

Hal grinned, adjusting the lens on his camera, zooming in and out on the spiny bushes that whipped past outside.

“You’re making me want to go back to  Neuquén. Just, y’know, stay there for the week and a half,” he said. He pointed the camera up at her, and she covered the lens with a hand, darkening his field of view.

“Trust me, once we get out there, you won’t be saying that.”

“You’ve also been out here about a year longer than I have, you could just be used to it.”

“ _ Trust me _ .” Dr. Hunter put her chin in her hands, eyes sincere. “Patagonia’s amazing, and I’m not just saying that as an anthropologist.”

“No?”

“Well, not entirely. Besides, Emmerich, you  _ did _ opt to come out here of your own volition.”

“Guilty.”

Bagging the camera, Hal watched as Dr. Hunter glanced around the sparsely populated bus, her eyes narrowing for a split second before turning back to the window. It was a damn shame she wouldn’t let him take her picture unless it was for the spread on her and her colleagues’ work with Tehuelche rock art, he mused; she was so genuinely pretty, with good cheekbones and work-tousled dark hair. Hal cleared his throat quietly and looked down at his phone.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tall man the next seat over shift, crossing his leather-clad arms. Dr. Hunter began to tap the seat again, her rhythm a bit faster this time.

“How long did you say the bus ride was, Dr. Hunter?” Hal asked, breaking the monotony of clicks and rattles and engine noises, only for them to continue for a few drawn-out seconds. “...Naomi?”

Dr. Hunter shook her head, breaking herself out of her daze.

“I--sorry, it should be maybe another half hour, forty-five minutes at most.”

The man in the black leather jacket looked over at them for a moment, and Hal caught his eye just as his gaze moved from Dr. Hunter to him. He gave as amiable a smile as he could, but could feel the muscles in his face tense up in instinctive anxiety.

_ Typical _ , he thought as the man faced the front of the bus again.  _ Yeah, grimace at the weird goth guy on the bus, good thinking Hal. Really blending in in a strange country _ .

In the twenty minutes that followed, Hal amused himself with finding particularly amusing rock formations in the steppes outside the bus window. It lasted him a good five minutes before he realized the vaguely rabbit-shaped boulder that had whizzed by was about as good as he was going to get. He considered striking up a conversation with Dr. Hunter (he had read up on the petrified forests and the herders in the area prior to his flight--certainly not to impress her or anything of the sort), but the anthropologist seemed oddly nervous so he settled back, slumping against the worn bus seat and slinging an arm over his pack beside him.

Someone from the back of the bus got up--a larger man with wavy hair and a sharp profile--and spoke a few words to the driver. Hal leaned forward slightly to listen, but to no avail. He sat back quickly as the man walked back, earning a raised eyebrow in his direction. He smiled again, or tried to, anyway.

The bus slowed, and Hal craned his neck to get a glimpse of the area outside, but Dr. Hunter laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Stay still for a sec,” she said. “Something’s...weird.”

The man in leather stood, shocking red ponytail jostling as he turned to face them.

“Afternoon,” Dr. Hunter said. “Everything alright?”

“Somewhat,” He had a peculiar voice, older than he himself appeared and tinged with a faint, implacable accent that Hal might have wagered was Russian if his nerves were marginally calmer. “My companion and I are looking for someone.”

“I don’t know how much help we can be,” Dr. Hunter replied, cautious. “But we’ll do what we can. After all, I’m just a researcher, I can’t say I’ve heard of any missing persons in the area.”

“A researcher of what sort..?”

“Anthropologist. Dr. Naomi Hunter, sir.”

He glanced down at Hal, who had pulled one knee up to his chest.

“And you?”

“Ph-photographer. For N-National Geographic.” Hal swallowed, adding: “I’m with her.”

The man’s sunken eyes narrowed. He looked over at the one who had spoken to the driver earlier.

“I don’t suppose you’ve come into contact with anyone by the name of David Smith as of late?”

“Not that I can recall,” said Dr. Hunter.

“I was talking to him.”

“No.” said Hal. 

“Take him outside,” said the man in the back, striding past. Hal didn’t need a clear mind to hear his strong British accent.

“If he goes, I go,” Dr. Hunter snapped.

“That won’t be necessary, Doctor,” he continued, holding up a gloved hand. “We don’t intend to hurt either one of you. All we want is to ask your friend some questions, then the two of you are free to go.”

The possibly-Russian grabbed Hal by the arm, hoisting him up and shoving him out the door. He followed him out, backpack full of camera equipment in hand.

“You, take a seat,” said the Englishman. “Empty the bag.”

“Ahhh, no, no, don’t do that--”

The click of a pistol echoed loud in Hal’s right ear. From the bus, Dr. Hunter yelped, banging her fists on the window in a futile plea for the gun to be put down.

The lens cases and tripod toppled out of Hal’s bag, landing with a sickening crack on the flat, dusty ground. His notebook followed them, as did a bottle of water, 50SPF sunblock, several mechanical pencils, and two volumes of .hack that Hal had intended to read on the plane.

“Okay,” he said softly, hazarding a glance at the gun held to his head. “Or do. That’s fine.”

With a tilt of his head, the Englishman lowered the pistol.

“I suppose we made a mistake,” he said, nonchalant. Hal stared in rather well-repressed horror at the pile of his things at the Russian’s feet. The Englishman motioned to the bus. “Come on. We’re going back to Neuquén.”

A rough hand shoved Hal to the ground as the two men boarded the bus, ignoring Dr. Hunter’s screams of protest.

“Thank you for your cooperation, you two. Dr. Hunter, you will be able to board tomorrow morning’s bus out to your workplace.”

“No--no! I--Hal, I’m not leaving you here!” She moved to the front row window as they blocked the bus door. The engine started, doors sliding shut with a violent snap.

“It’s fine!” Hal called out weakly. “I...I’ll call someone! I can call for help!”

Dr. Hunter shouted something inaudible as the bus circled around and headed back in the direction of the city. Hal exhaled hard, lying flat on the dry ground.

The afternoon sun stung as he lolled his head back. He heaved a sigh, biting back a curse as he tugged the phone out of his back pocket.

The laugh that tumbled from his lips was halfway on its way to a sob. Of  _ fucking _ course there was no service in the middle of the desert.


	2. Doghouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal makes some new friends of the four-legged, slobbery variety. And one (two?) not of that variety.

Only half of the lenses had cracked. Only half, Hal kept telling himself. Half. Two out of four.

He had lost track of just how long he had been walking--had the sun been so low in the sky before? He could feel sweat breaking on his brow, gathering at the rim of his glasses like rain on a windowsill.

Rain sounded nice right about then, he had to admit. He reached for the water bottle sitting in his bag’s side pocket, only for empty plastic to crinkle beneath his hand.

“Shit,” Hal croaked. His pace slowed to a halt and he let out a breath, palms coming to rest atop his thighs. The sweat had soaked into the t-shirt beneath his button-down, which he promptly shrugged off and tugged out from under the strap of his backpack.

Dr. Hunter had mocked him for the blue NERV shirt the minute he walked off the plane, but he would much rather be the subject of her ridicule than be doing...whatever the hell he was now.

The thought of actually putting on sunscreen crossed his mind, but Hal couldn’t be bothered, instead tossing the gray button-down over his head and marching on.

The Patagonia Desert, he found, was an excellent place to think. When the thought at the forefront of his mind, however, was a replay of being tossed out of a bus by two strange men,  _ thinking _ was the last thing he wanted to do with his time there. He laughed and squinted out across the arid landscape, eyes meeting the faint edges of rocky plateaus in the distance. The rapidly drooping sun shed the whole thing in red light, drawing out long, dark shadows.

Two shadows in particular stood out, one before him of a dilapidated trading post, and the other, maybe six feet to his right…

The other wagged its tail and raised its hackles.

“Well,” Hal muttered, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Nice doggy…?”

A low rumble in the dog’s throat was more than enough of a cue for him to run. Behind him, a ragged bark sounded off, too close for comfort. The shack was close enough; his legs felt like straw, but he could still make it. He hoped. At his heels, the dog snapped its jaws all too eagerly.

His hands met the door handle, and he tugged, only to be met with resistance.

“Oh come ON!” he shouted, rattling the door. He shoved his entire weight on it, forcing one bony shoulder into it once, twice--

The door gave way with a screech, nearly swinging off its hinges as Hal’s face met the wooden floor. He rolled over, groaning. Beside him, claws clicked on the splinter-filled wood, and he braced for the worst, entire upper body going stiff.

_ Well, if I die, at least it it wasn’t in a plane crash. I guess _ .

A wet nose snuffled against his face, letting out a concerned whistle.

“Ugh, Delta, out,” a low, feminine voice demanded. The dog huffed, and Hal heard it trot away. His eyes fluttered open to the sight of a tall woman looming over him, a hand running through her long blonde hair in irritation. She regarded him with an exasperated sideways glance before closing the door he had fallen through.

Hal was firmly convinced that he had died. There was no way in hell that dog  _ wasn’t _ going to kill him. No. Way.

“Are you an angel?” he asked her without thinking. She looked back down at him with a scowl.

“Haven’t heard that one before,” she snorted, driving a steel-toed boot into his side. “Get up. What the hell are you doing here?”

With some difficulty, Hal pulled himself to a sitting position. He rubbed the spot where her boot had struck him with a soft “ow”.

“I...I’m lost.”

“That’s nice.” She reached down to stroke the ear of one of three enormous, wolflike dogs. It laid against a wooden desk, above which hung a large rifle surrounded by several mounted heads: a fox, a puma, some kind of llama. Hal’s stomach turned at the sight. “What do you  _ want _ ?”

He swallowed thickly.

“Water would be nice?”

“Water will cost you a peso.”

“Wolf, enough,” barked a gruff voice further into the shack. Wolf brushed her bangs out of her eyes and went to sit behind the desk. In the leftmost corner, a broad-shouldered figure sat on a crooked bench. At his feet sat the dog that had chased Hal into the trading post, its head lying complacently on his knee. “Where are you from, kid?”

“Maine.”

The stranger whistled. Hal winced internally; why he had been so damn specific he had little idea.

“Long way from home.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

He shifted, bringing his face into the light; brown hair framed his rugged face, unkempt but not unseemly. He had a beard about equally as unkempt which did little to hide a large, thin scratch accentuated in the dim light. Tugging a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, he exhaled through his nose in what seemed to be amusement.

“Y’know, I was gonna ask if you needed a guide back to wherever you were headed, but...Maine.” He scoffed, putting a cigarette between his lips. “Afraid I can’t help you with that.”

Wolf tossed a bottle of water onto the floor. It rolled a few inches and came to rest at his knuckles.

“Thanks,” he murmured, pushing his glasses up. He offered her a smile; Wolf rolled her eyes.

“So how the hell did you end up in Argentina?”

“I’m...a photojournalist. I was with a colleague but...shit happens, I guess?”

Hal laughed nervously, unscrewing the water bottle with shaking hands.

“What kind of...shit leaves a scrawny journalist stranded in the middle of the Patagonian Desert?” He lit the cigarette. “Maine, indeed, that’s a pretty bad sunburn. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Our bus got...well, not attacked, but...I got thrown off. I don’t know what the guys were looking for exactly but they must’ve thought I was someone else.” Hal took a tentative sip of the water, now very aware of the heat emanating from his reddened skin. “And, uh, I’m Hal. Hal Emmerich.”

“I should be getting back to Neuquén...” he continued. The bearded man in the corner took a drag on his cigarette.

“So, you’re gonna take photos in Neuquén?”

“Huh? Oh, no, I was supposed to go through the desert with the colleague I mentioned. She and I were headed somewhere in the middle part of Patagonia, like...L-Los--”

“Los Altares?”

“Yes! That general area.”

A second dog, smaller with blue-grey dapples, padded over and wagged its tail. Through his cigarette, the stranger muttered a “hey buddy” and scratched the dog’s head.

“I can take you there,” he said offhandedly, still preoccupied with the dog.

“You w-w-whaa--”

“You wanna get those photos, don’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, but I can just--”

“Walk back to Neuquén--which’ll kill you if you try it alone--and take another bus out there with your lady friend? She even know where you are?”

Hal looked down at the floor, then over at Wolf, who had taken down the rifle to clean it with a meticulous eye.

“What would I have to pay you?”

“Nothin’. I like you, Hal. I was from New England at one point too, you know.”

“Really...?”

“Mhmm. Briefly.”

“O-okay...when do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning, bright and early.” He plucked a wool blanket off the bench and tossed it to Hal. “Sleep tight, kid. Lemme know if you need some aloe for your face, and don’t be too startled if Delta or her little brother here try to make themselves your pillow.”

Hal eyed the one he had called Delta, all silvery fur and rippling muscle, a bit like Wolf’s own pets but notably smaller.

“What about Wolf’s dogs?” he asked.

“They’re not dogs,” Wolf stated. One raised its head and let out a grumble like a freight train. Hal gulped and nodded.

“Also I...don’t think I got your name,” Hal said as the stranger put out his cigarette on the ashtray sitting atop the desk. Wolf shot him an annoyed look that he regarded with but a wave of a large hand.

He thought for a moment, as if unused to being asked for his name.

“You can call me Snake,” he said after a minute. “That’s what people tend to call me--Snake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jsyk hal is always wearing the evangelion shirt in this fic...goin on a desert adventure with a mysterious hot man in your anime shirt, livin the dream. does snake know what anime is? only time will tell


	3. Dawn of the First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal gets to know the dogs much better; he can't quite say the same for his guide.

The morning sun beat down far less mercifully than Hal was used to; even so, he had to admit that it hit the faded shingles of the shack’s lopsided roof at a great angle. He zoomed in on the small lizard basking in the warmth atop it and snapped a photo. It wasn't his best by any measure, but it would do for a warm-up shot for the day.

“You good?” Snake asked. Hal nodded and slung the camera back around his neck. The strap felt tight against his neck, which was now covered in a thin layer of sunscreen at Snake’s behest. His entire face, as well as his arms, felt like he had washed himself with glue that morning and Hal added “sunblock” to a mental list of reasons he preferred the cold--a list, granted, he had just now started.

Snake pulled at the straps of his bag--an actual camping bag, unlike Hal’s little grimy black one--and nodded towards the stretch of desert their destination lay somewhere beyond. He had tied a navy bandanna around his forehead, and it waved feebly with the motion.

As Hal walked over, Snake shoved a cold canteen into his hands.

“Don't you need one, Snake…?”

“I'm not a dumbass, I didn't come to the desert with a single bottle of water.”

Hal’s cheeks burned at the accusation, but he clipped the canteen onto his bag. The mottled dog Snake had referred to as Delta’s “brother” the other night came over to give Hal’s pant leg a thorough sniff.

“This here's Tango,” said Snake. “He and Delta Delta have been with me for a long, long time. Hope you don't mind dogs because they're coming with us.”

“Oh, no. As long as I'm not getting chased by them, I'm okay.” Hal put out a hand for Tango to smell, adding: “Delta Delta?”

Snake scratched the back of his head.

“Her, uh...full name. I just call her Delta most of the time.” Delta herself leaned heavily into Snake’s leg, vying for attention from her owner. He obliged, rubbing the side of her long, square face. “Tango’s a heeler, Delta’s...a mix.”

“If he's your heeler, does that make her a tank?” Hal asked, unable to keep a smirk off his face. Dave raised an eyebrow but didn't answer.

“Okay,” said Hal, more to himself than anyone in the immediate vicinity.

The turf was softer than Hal recalled from the day before, but his shoes slipped against the sand as it gave out beneath each step. Snake walked easily several feet in front of him with one hand in the pocket of his jeans, the other hanging onto a worn olive jacket slung over his shoulder. His khaki shirt, while baggy, still clung to the back of his arms and did Hal the great service of outlining the curve of his triceps. Every so often Snake would shift, muscles tightening and loosening as he moved the jacket or tousled the hair over his neck. Hal sucked in a breath.

“Alright back there?” Snake asked, pausing to allow him to catch up.

“Yeah,” Hal replied. The dogs circled them, tongues hanging out and eyes playful as Snake patted him on the shoulder and continued on.

“So, um,” He fiddled with the white balance on the camera while he walked, attempting to match Snake’s pace. “How long have you been out here? I'd imagine you'd have to be here a while, to be a guide and all…”

Snake cast a fleeting look over his shoulder, an almost-smile breaking on his face before he turned back.

“How long d’you think?”

Snake didn't seem like the type of person to take particular offense to assumptions about his age--but then again, Hal had known him for maybe twelve hours, seven of which had been spent in a fitful, dog-spit-riddled sleep on the floor of a shack. So, five hours really. And being the opposite of a people person, Hal might as well have been on a blind date with the guy.

If there was any chance in hell that he'd end up on a blind date with someone half as good-looking as Snake, Hal might have tried it more often.

“I dunno, like...a couple years?”

“Four.”

“ _Jesus_. “ Hal couldn’t stop it from coming out and almost choked trying to pull the exclamation back, but Snake laughed hoarsely.

“You get used to it, as you’d probably gather,” he said.

“So, you  _ live _ out here?”

“I move between towns, but for simplicity’s sake...yeah, pretty much.”

“That’s rough.”

Snake shrugged.

“The dogs help.”

Delta ran a few feat ahead, her nose pressed into the sand; Tango pranced alongside her, nipping at her pointed ears every so often and earning himself a growl from the larger dog. Hal smiled.

“So, you and...Wolf work together then? As guides?”

“No,” said Snake as Delta circled back behind him. “I’ve only known her a couple months. Don’t really know what her deal is, but the old trading post is kind of...neutral ground, all kinds come through there.”

“You really don’t know anything about her?”

“She’s good with animals, I guess. You seemed pretty keen on her, would you rather have her as your guide?”

“I--no?? No, sorry.” The heat rising in Hal’s cheeks was noticeably different from the warmth of the early morning sun.

“Don’t be, loverboy.”

That did nothing to take the edge off of Hal’s embarrassment, and he returned to busying himself with the settings on his camera; it was still too washed out for his tastes, giving the sand a sickly pale sheen that just looked...off.

A dark, soggy nose pressed itself up against his lens, covering it in a layer of viscous condensation.

“Ugh, Tango…”

 

The desert sunset, when not interrupted by a large mutt at your heels, was undeniably beautiful; reds bled into pinks into golds, echoing off the spines of thorn bushes and intimidating curves of rocky outcroppings.

Hal’s camera had finally decided to cooperate, allowing him to find the perfect exposure balance after what seemed like almost the whole day. He laid flat on his stomach atop a small plateau, overlooking a great expanse of the desert painted pink with the setting sun. In the distance, the taller peaks of the Andes stood gray along the horizon.

He zoomed in on a spindly tree several feet below just as a finch alighted on it. Both the bird and the branch were little more than a dark silhouette, but the contrast between them and the sky was positively striking; Hal took the shot.

“You said you got thrown off a bus?”

With a start, Hal turned away from the sunset. He propped himself up on his forearms.

“What?”

Snake had lit a cigarette in the time they had taken for Hal to perch on the rock for a better view of the sunset. (“You can see the sunset from anywhere,” Snake had said irritably. “Just take a picture and keep walking while we find a place for the night.”)

“Your bus got--how did you put it?--not attacked, but you got thrown out?” He took a drag on the cigarette and leaned against a massive, lichen-dappled rock, free arm stretched leisurely out to the side. “By a couple of guys--bandits or what?”

Tango and Delta scrambled up to join Hal on the rock, startling the little finch into flight. They sniffed him, the camera, the rock, nudged at his face and arm before hopping back down to sit next to Snake. Hal watched them, eyes coming to rest on their owner’s face, tanned and severe.

“I, uh...I don’t know,” he admitted. “They were weird. Took an interest in me especially, but they left Na--my colleague alone..”

He wiped some sweat off the back of his neck.

“Enough interest to take you off the bus?”

“Like I said earlier, they--they thought I was somebody else. I guess.” Hal licked his lips, residual dread building in the back of his mind at the memory of a pistol at the side of his head. “They were, heh, pretty intent on finding the guy they were looking for.”

Snake knelt down, taking Tango’s narrow face in his hands and jostling him fondly.

“And they thought you were their man?” he asked.

“No, not exactly...unless I look like a David Smith.”

Snake stopped and stood jerkily, one hand still on the side of Tango’s face as the heeler panted.

“David Smith?”

“Yeah,” said Hal, frowning and rolling over, camera held above his head as he clicked absently through the day’s photos. “Said they were looking for a David Smith.”

Snake grunted and looked out at the setting sun, hands on his hips.

“Yeah,” Hal continued, somewhat hesitant. “They, um. Asked me--well, demanded--to get off the bus and they kind of..” He gestured with a flippant hand towards his bag. “Dumped my stuff. I told them not to but that got me a, ah, gun pointed at me.”

He laughed, but his voice shook. Snake looked back at him, brow furrowed,

“So, what, bounty hunters?”

“Maybe. I can’t say for sure. Dr. Hunter, the anthropologist who was gonna show me around, they took her back to Neuquén. Said she’d be fine.”

“I’m sure she will be.” Snake bent down and unclipped two bedrolls from his bag, effectively ending the conversation. Hal sat up, elbows resting on his dust-covered knees, camera held lightly in his dust-covered hands.

“We’re making camp here?”

Snake nodded.

“There’s some food in the second pocket there; it’s dried crap but it’ll do on short notice like this. Help me out and grab it.”

Hal hoisted himself to his feet and stepped down, greeted by the open-mouthed smiles of the dogs. Unzipping the compartment Snake had indicated to, he took a moment to inspect the packages: jerky, granola, dried fruit strips. He set each down neatly with a dissatisfied expression that Snake obviously caught in his periphery.

“Don’t pout.”

“I’m not.” Hal set his camera down in his own open bag and tilted his head at the guide. “What did you mean ‘short notice’, Snake?”

Satisfied with the state of the bedding, Snake tugged on the olive jacket he had tossed to the ground earlier. Behind him, the sky’s gradient faded into purple and gave way to a few lonesome stars.

“I meant that I didn’t get to hunt anything.” At Hal’s widened eyes, he added: “It’s not like I love doing it, kid.”

A breeze blew past, colder than Hal had anticipated.

_ Of course _ , he thought.  _ It gets  _ cold _ in the desert at night, idiot. Should have brought a damn jacket. _

He sat down on the bedding, pulling the wool blanket Snake had set on it around himself. Snake tugged open the bag of jerky, took a piece out and tossed the bag into Hal’s lap.

“Hope you like preserved beef,” he snorted, sticking it between his teeth.

Gingerly, Hal picked out a piece for himself and took a bite. It tasted like salt water and ash--two things he never wanted to taste together--but he forced it down. When Snake turned away, he the rest of it to an eager, drooling Delta and reached for the pouch of dried apricots instead.

 

That night, Hal took his phone out of his pocket; he hadn’t bothered to use it at all during the day, which came as a surprise even to him.

He unlocked it--the passcode had been the same since high school: 1337, something stupid from when he first started coding in high school--and watched as the Gundam lock screen faded into two smiling faces. One was his own, the other strikingly similar for someone he wasn’t even related to by blood.

“Fuck,” he sighed. Emma must have been so worried; there was no way she hadn’t called or texted or tried to facetime him since he had been out here. Sure, his stupid serviceless phone gave him no hints, but he knew his stepsister. He knew his family.

She had his glasses on in the picture, her arms slung around his neck. He smiled; she’d love the thought of being out here in the deserts of South America, but if she was anything like him she’d be out of her wits in practice. Hal shivered in the night air and pulled the blanket tight around his body.

Up above, the darkened sky was now smattered with stars in a pattern that resembled Tango’s spots. On his left, Tango and Delta snored gently beside the lantern Snake had set up; Snake himself was silent, his back to Hal and the dogs. Either he did not snore, or he was still awake. Hal didn’t feel like investigating.

Emma did like stars, though. Hal tucked the phone away and, as quiet as he could, fished the camera from its case in his backpack. Turning it on and facing the sky, he snapped a picture of the star-freckled indigo above the Patagonian desert.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few other chapters written, I guess those'll get posted at a staggered pace? ye


End file.
